Empires' End
by starpuppycz
Summary: What if Sisko had let his principles get the better of him, on that fateful day when he sought to bring the Romulans into the war against the Dominion? What if the Federation fell? The Dominion now struggles to maintain control of its new territory while our scattered heroes rebel. Romulus is the last free power in the quadrant. And meanwhile Data may hold the key to the future.
1. Chapter 1: Scattered, But Not Without Ho

Empires' End

Chapter One: Scattered, But Not Without Hope

Councilor Troy stepped out of the stone stairway into the dim candlelit room. A vulcan sitting in a desk looked up from his pad as she approached. "Earth's been destroyed," she said.

The light went out in his eyes. He starred gloomily into his own thoughts for a small eternity. Then something hardened, "How many dead?"

"The whole nine billion. The Dominion evacuated their troops and then bombarded the planet with triphasic torpedoes. No one survived." Troy paused. She feared this next part might deter her already demoralized captain. "Their broadcasts say it was punishment for former Admiral Ross' rebellion. They say it was to set an example."

The Vulcan shook his head, "Ross contacted me two months ago. His movement was barely off the ground. To retaliate like this, so soon. No… the Dominion planned to do this from the beginning. They must have realized, if a centralized rebellion were to form, it would have to start-"

"-at the capitol of the Federation."

The death of worlds hung over the room, but they did not have the time to contemplate it. "How goes the hunt?"

"Riker has found a captain willing to go along with our plan," said Troy. "He has a science vessel that's authorized to leave vulcan. His engineer should be able to beam us aboard undetected, and once we're past the orbital blockade and far enough into interstellar space, we'll cut the power and hopefully overwhelm its Jem'Hadar monitoring force."

"And once we've freed the ship, how do we plan to sneak into Romulus?" If they could get to Romulus, he hoped to eventually find Spock, whose underground Reunification movement may be their greatest hope, now that Romulus was the last free power in the Alpha Quadrant.

Troy smiled, "Geordi has some ideas."

"Excellent." The vulcan stood up and tucked at his shirt. He was tired of hiding behind walls and false identities while people died across the quadrant. He was tired of this damn monastery. "It will be good to have a ship under us again. Make it so." Picard thought back to the last time he had held the Enterprise, and the last time he had seen Data.

"Captain, I am afraid our new mission has no plausible chance of success," said Data.

Picard sighed, "Yes I'm aware of that Mr. Data. But all remaining ships have been ordered to rendezvous with Admiral Nechayev's fleet to make our last stand. This is our duty as Starfleet officers to see this war through to the end." The Enterprise was currently orbiting Vulcan, alone. Its presence alone deterred any minor Jem'Hadar incursion, freeing up forces to hold the line at DS9, the line which had just fallen 4 hours ago, marking the end of the Federation.

"I do not think that is wise sir."

"Data I never thought you to be a coward. What is this about?"

"It is not cowardice Captain, it is ethics. I am willing to sacrifice lives for the Federation. But I dislike the prospect of doing so for a…gesture."

"We all have our duties, commander."

Data nodded. "Yes, Jean-Luc." He turned his chair back to the consol and began rapidly dancing his fingers across the display. A shiver of blue surrounded Picard.

"Data!" he shouted, but he was on the streets of Vulcan before he could react, surrounded by the rest of his bewildered crew. He learned later that Data had piloted the Enterprise into battle as they had been ordered. Operated by a single android the ship still lasted as long as any of the others in their final firefight. Having saved his crewmates and defended the line, he had done both his duty to his uniform and to his friends, to the very end.

Odo was sick. Dr. Mora couldn't diagnose him, let alone cure him, but he calculated that at his current rate of deterioration Odo would be dead within 3 weeks. His only hope was to find Dr. Bashir, who had disappeared shortly after the fall of DS9.

"We'll track him down, I promise," said Kira. They were in a large cave, surrounded by resistance fighters.

"No, Nerys. Your job is here. I can't," He coughed, then put his hand up to his forehead, pushing a piece of peeling skin back into place. "I can't be responsible for you… for you abandoning your cause Major just because of my weakness. I'll do this… on my own."

Kira held his hands in hers. "Odo."

"I'll go with him," spoke up Garak.

Odo guffawed. "You?"

He smiled, "You'll find I'm very good at finding people." Garak then looked around the room worriedly, "Besides I don't think the people here like me very much."

Kira curtly nodded. "Okay you look after Odo. I'm gonna go punch some Cardassians in the nose."

Odo tried to smile, "give them another sock in the jaw for me too."

"Well since we're all in agreement," said Garak, "I suggest we waste as little time as possible. Major I take it you have some form of off-world transportation lined up?" She nodded. "Good, I already have some ideas where to start looking."

Sloan paced back in forth while Bashir studied his files. "I still think this is a waste of time doctor. Just because we've already lost doesn't mean you can just finish every project that once popped into your head."

"You're the one who said we needed more operatives, Sloan."

"She's basically a catatonic."

"Which is why," said Julian, annoyed, "I'm _fixing_ her."

"Yes but she's _always_ been catatonic. What could she possibly know that could be helpful?"

"She figured out the Dominion's plan to acquire the components for their _white._ Imagine what she could do once her senses speed up enough so the world actually looks interesting to her."

"Yes, I remember that little episode. And then your special club recommended total surrender to the Dominion."

"We were right, after all. Defeat was inevitable."

"Yes but you didn't guess they would destroy Earth did you? You planned for Earth to be the seed of our eventual revolution. But the Dominion had the same idea."

Bashir winced at the destruction of his homeworld. Sloan could be extremely cruel, but unfortunately he had been right all along. They did need someone like him. He finished his work and turned around. "Well the procedure's ready, at any rate. I'll go set up our equipment, you go get Sarina." He thought for a moment, "and tell the others they can follow her up to the door. They'll cause a scene if you don't let them come that far, but they'll wreck havoc if their actually in surgery with her."

Sloan shrugged and left for the other room where they were storing the Mutants. Tracking them down hadn't been difficult, they were just lucky to have not been on Earth during the-

The massacre.

Julian tried not to think about that and walked into his surgical room. He tried not to think about his father's last message, saying he was going to make it big with his new gig designing exotic fisheries back on Earth. He tried not to imagine their fiery screams.

"You said you had something, interesting for me," said Weyoun.

The vorta scientist nodded. "We've been working on it for months now, but we've finally got it to… talk."

Weyoun followed the other vorta up to the observation window and looked at the thing hanging partially disassembled from a mess of cables. "Very interesting."

"The Federation's prototype robot. Years ahead of anything else they have, and, pardon me for saying, ahead of anything we have too. It was found in the wreckage of their flagship. From the lack of bodies inside the wreckage we suspect it ran the entire ship itself."

"Hence your interest. Yes that could be very… useful." Weyoun had brief visions of a Dominion without the violent and often insolent Jem'Hadar. A fleet run by robots would certainly be more secure than one run by soldiers whose loyalty must be bought with drugs, and even then had managed to betray and kill his predecessor, Weyoun 4.

"Unfortunately, we've still barely scratched the surface of its design. It will be some time before we can replicate it. For now we've been more focused on extracting intelligence from the machine. Maybe it knows the location of its creator. The robot's been like a statue though since we captured it. At first I thought it was damaged, but in reality it's just very patient. We've been slowly worming into its cognitive matrix, and I can get it to answer questions now. Though its responses are… limited. It's still fighting."

"Can it hear me?"

The scientist tapped a consol. "It can now."

Weyoun looked soulfully up at the future of the Dominion. "Do… do you have a name?"

The robot twitched, "Data."

"Hmm…" pondered Weyoun, "what is it trying to say?" Data not found seemed a likely possibility.

"We're not sure. We've asked it that before, and that's all it says. It never finishes the sentence."

Weyoun tried another tract. "Are there any others like you?"

The robot spasmed again, then said, "Yes." That was interesting.

"Do you know where they are?"

"No." Frustrating.

"Do you know who they are?"

"Yes."

"Who are they?"

"There is, Lore." Lore, it was a starting point. "And there was, Lal." Weyoun caught something in the robot's voice.

"What happened to Lal?"

"She was… flawed. She did not last."

"Who was-" fine he'd humor the machine with a gendered pronoun- "she?"

"My… daughter." Very interesting.

"As in, you made her? You can self-replicate?" If so, they may not have to reverse engineer it.

"I can… not. The experiment failed."

This was starting to look like a very promising _dead end_. Weyoun tried yet another tract. "Who made you?"

"Dr. Soong."

"And where is he?"

"Gone."

Weyoun sighed, "As in dead?"

"Yes."

"Does… does anyone else know how to construct you?"

"No."

Weyoun turned to the scientist. "This looks like a very long-term project. I'll give you some additional resources, and you'll keep me updated on your progress." He turned and walked back up the hall. Unfortunately, they may not have a long-term. The wormhole was still killing anything that went through it, and the only Founder left in the Alpha Quadrant seemed to be dying, though she tried to hide it. Without a Founder, how could there be a Dominion? And how would he go on without a God?

Perhaps Odo… but no, Weyoun had stopped thinking of Odo as a Founder years ago, as had Odo. He sided with Bajor over his own people, had killed another and been cast out, for a while at least. The Founder had tried to bring him back into the fold back on that Bajoran station, but he ultimately hadn't returned. And even the Founder seemed disinterested now. Still… a God was a God.

"Disengage cloak and fire," commanded Sisko from his seat on the Defiant.

"Ay ay, Javert," said the young rebel manning the tactical station. Javert had been the nickname Sisko assumed after he'd resurrected what was left of the Maquis into a fighting force; it seemed fitting. After all, Eddington was right, all those years ago. He was dogmatic, and it had cost the universe dearly. If he had just gotten the Romulans into the war, if hadn't stuck to his principles at the last minute, maybe there'd still be a Federation. But he couldn't lie, he couldn't cheat, not a loyal officer of Starfleet. Well, he wasn't in Starfleet anymore. There was no more Starfleet, thanks to him. And he would never make that mistake again. No more principles, no more rules. There was just his home, and the enemy he fought to get them _out_ of his home. Just like Eddington. Just like the Maquis.

Javert was alone now. Jadzia Dax had gone with her husband Worf to help organize the Klingon resistance. Kira and Odo started a terrorist cell on Bajor, like old times, though they at least still stayed in contact on occasion. Bashir had disappeared off the face of the world. And O'Brien was laying low somewhere with Keiko and their two children; war was one thing, but he couldn't join a suicide mission with a baby to look after. But he still had his ship. When the station was finally overrun, this ship- with its cloak and extensive weaponry- had been what saved his crew. And now it was his greatest weapon in his private little war.

This time the target was a shipyard in the former neutral zone. Normally they were untouchable without a whole fleet backing you, but this one was still under construction. And the Dominion forces, still depleted from the war, were busy defending their boarder with the Romulans, blockading planets to prevent civilian ships from becoming part of the resistance effort, and defending the cloning facilities that were now turning out millions of occupation troops. It could be argued that this was a pointless gesture, since Dominion ships no longer needed to be in such high supply now that there was no war to fight. But Sisko still held out hope that, now that the war was decided, Romulus might strike before the Dominion had consolidated their new territory, to prevent becoming surrounded on all sides by a powerful and unified enemy. And Sisko wanted to make that potential strike as easy for the Romulans as possible.

Senator Cretak entered the office of Senator Vreenak.

Vreenak took a sip of Kali-fal before dining to acknowledge her presence. "I thought you would come."

"It's time to consider Romulus' place in history, Senator."

"I'm never not, Cretak. But tell me Senator, what place in history do you have in mind?"

She took a seat at his desk. "A footnote in the Dominion's long empire, or the leaders of the Alpha Quadrant."

Vreenak smiled. "I thought it was something like that. I take it your considering a preemptive strike against our allies?"

"Now would be the best time, with their forces are still busy controlling their new territory. A better time perhaps would have been when those territories still had forces of their own to ally with, but I lost the argument on that decision."

"By quite a large margin, if I remember."

"But it can still be to our advantage. If we could succeed, there will be no power left in the quadrant that isn't crippled beyond recognition. I'm hoping against hope that was your plan all along, rather than simply a naive trust in the Dominion's word."

"Well I wouldn't want to disappoint you, Senator," he said with even more affable smugness. "No I wasn't planning on taking them at their word. However nor was I planning on a costly engagement that would pointlessly end the live of millions of loyal citizens."

"Don't tell me all this has been to postpone war in the hope it never comes. Because I assure you, it will come."

"You sound just like that Federation captain I met a year back."

"The Federation are peace-obsessed meeklings lead by an undisciplined population of abject cowards. And even they could not avoid war with the Dominion."

"You forget they started it, with that minefield of theirs."

"Because the Dominion was building up forces with ships from the Gamma Quadrant. Even they could spot a trap Vreenak. If they could, surely a Romulan must do better."

"Yet you think I'd fall for such a simple trap as pride?"

Cretak looked down in embarrassment, but then smiled, "It did seem to be your greatest weakness."

"_Calculated_ pride, Senator. There's a difference," he sighed. "But unfortunately you're right; the Dominion's peace offer was a trap. They are conquerors, and there can be no coexistence with conquerors, unless you match them in strength."

"But you've allowed them to become stronger by threefold before taking action."

"We are Romulans, Senator. Surely you know territory does not equal strength. Technology equals strength. Our ancestors built this empire from scratch just because they had warp drives before others. We kept it because of our development of the self-defending mine. We spread across the quadrant because of the cloak- and were later diminished when we lost the monopoly on that technology by sharing it with the Klingons."

Cretak winced at the reminder of their history's greatest folly. "So then what is your plan? Did you spend the resources we would've used in the war effort on a last ditch research project? Because I don't remember such a bill passing before the Senate."

"Sarcasm really doesn't suit you Senator. But no what I saved by delaying the war wasn't resources, it was lives. Lives that hopefully-" he picked up a pad, tapped brought up a file, and handed it to her- "won't have to be paid in the future."

On the pad was a diagram of a humanoid shaped machine. Realization donned on her as she skimmed over its specifications.

"Its name is B4, we acquired it 4 years ago and it's been my pet project ever since. Kept in total secrecy, of course."

"Of course," said Cretak. She knew very well the importance of controlling information. And this data could reshape the entire Alpha Quadrant. She looked up, "but the Federation has had one of these for over a decade and still hasn't successfully replicated the technology."

"Yes well, like I said: technology is our might. We've already constructed a prototype of its positronic brain. And secretly refitted a warbird to run without a crew. We've evenly perfected a set of repair drones that will act as engineers, all controlled by that magnificent mechanical brain," Vreenak caught himself overstating things. "Even if it's a bit of an idiot savant. But within another few months, I'll take command of our shipyards- with the Senate's approval of course- and begin mass production. You'd be amazed how much of the ship's we can leave out when you don't need life-support or crew quarters. We'll also retrofit most of the current fleet, to save lives and increase combat performance- you should see how this thing performs in simulations, it's miraculous- and then you can have your war, Senator. A completely costless war."

Cretak's head was still spinning. She looked back down on the pad, "This might, just work."

Vreenak smiled smugly again, "Glad I didn't disappoint after all. So, then I can count on your support when I unveil the future of Romulus"


	2. Chapter 2: Into the Breach

Empires' End

Chapter Two: Into the Breach

"Our cloak is offline sir," yelled the young Maquis at tactical as a consol burst into sparks behind her.

"Damn," said Sisko. They had managed to destroy the shipyard, but had taken heavy damage in the process. And two pursuit ships were almost in firing range.

"Five more ships on sensors," said the crewman at ops. They really needed that cloak.

"Helmsman, set course for the Badlands. We'll just have to hope we can reach before they catch us." The Badlands should get the Dominion off their tail long enough to repair the cloaking device.

Damar watched the ship change course on his monocular display. "He's heading into the Badlands. Predictable."

"But effective," said the vorta woman standing next to him. Kilana he remembered. "It will be difficult to track him in there."

"Difficult, but not impossible. His ship gives off a lot of power when not masked by its cloak. Even surrounded by anomalies, our sensors should still be able to get an idea of his location, at least if we have enough ships to triangulate the signature."

"Hmm… these ships need to return to blockading Bajor as soon as possible, but destroying the last Federation warship is a high enough priority."

Damar grunted, "I'm glad we're in agreement. Now order our ships into a wide pursuit pattern." Officially she was here only to assist him, only Weyoun could pull his leash. But the vorta were used to commanding subjects of the Dominion, not partnering with them. He knew being the leader of Cardassia counted for nothing with her.

Kilana turned to the First, "Send the other ships into the plasma storm, but keep us at a safe distance."

Damar frowned, "I said all our ships vorta. We go in too."

Kilana laughed with false charm, "Why would we do that? I would get into trouble if I got the head of Cardassia killed during peace time. Let the soldiers handle this themselves."

"I am a soldier. And it's been too long since I was inside a fight." And he wanted to take down the killer of Dukat himself. But the vorta wouldn't understand vengeance.

Kilana shrugged. "We can always get another figurehead."

"Bridge to Engineering, do you have an estimate on that cloak?" said Sisko.

A voice replied over the comm., "Maybe four more hours? I've fixed the resonance coils, but now we're having to adapt components from our aft phaser emitters to replace a fused plasma coupler. Hope you won't need to shoot behind you for a while sir."

"I guess we'll manage." They weren't going to shoot their why out of this one anyway. "Ops, can you get anything on the pursuit ships?"

"Sorry sir, can't penetrate this interference."

"We'll just have to hope that's a good sign." Dominion sensors did seem to have a few advantages over Federation technology, and his ship ran a lot hotter than it should, so just because he couldn't see them, didn't necessarily mean they couldn't see him. His best bet was to find as much interference as possible. "What's giving off the most static right now?"

"A pulsar wrapped in a nebula is emitting a lot of gamma radiation and igniting one hell of a plasma storm."

Maybe that would be too obvious. "And the second most?"

"A rogue gas giant with an abnormally intense magnetic field that's fluctuating wildly," said the crewman.

Intriguing, in a better time he would have approached it just to learn its secrets. Now it was just a place to hide.

"I have them sir," said one of the Jem'Hadar.

"Then all ships close in," said the First, tightening the net. "Surrounded, outnumbered, and damaged. This will be an easy victory. Victory is life."

"Yes," said Kilana automatically.

Damar smiled sourly. "This is a good day."

"Tell that to the shipyards," snapped Kilana.

"Yes, that was unfortunate. But in a few moments Sisko will be dead. And we'll never lose a shipyard again."

"Sir, we've lost the ship," said the soldier handling the sensors.

"What was their last location?" demanded the First.

"Sector 357, grid Alpha," replied the Jem'Hadar.

The First's eyes momentarily went blank as he brought up some maps on his monocular display. He turned to the vorta, "the enemy must have flown closer to one of the radiating bodies. The primary candidates are a pulsar and an irregular gas giant."

"Send 4 ships into the pulsar's system, and have the remaining two ships rendezvous with us at the giant," said Damar.

Kilana turned to him, "I take it you suspect he went for the Gas Giant?" She knew he wanted to do this himself. But just as a soldier seeking a fix like he'd intimated, or did she understand his true motives? Did it even mater? What would a vorta care about his interests?

Damar shrugged, "It gives him more options. If we find him, he can try flying into the planet. You can't do that with a pulsar and live."

In a few moments they approached the rogue giant. Its erratic magnetic field played havoc with their sensors, but at this range they could get a lock on the Defiant's location, and Damar even got a static-filled visual of the ship on his monocular display. It had some scarring along its rear and port side, but did not look exactly crippled.

Once the Defiant spotted them, it plunged for the planet as predicted. The First ordered their two ships to pursue it, leaving them up here to pick it off once they smoked Sisko out.

Picard crouched in a service hatch holding a phaser, with Dr. Crusher behind him. There were seven Jem'Hadar on this ship. The vulcan officers were all unarmed, so that left Picard, Crusher, Riker, Geordi, and Diana with their smuggled weapons, so they were slightly outnumbered. And the Jem'Hadar were extremely effective soldiers, so Picard was grateful they would also have the element of surprise. It was nearly time. Picard opened the hatch, and they quietly crawled out into the hallway. Around the corner would be the transporter room, where two Jem'Hadar stood guard. Their man in engineering unfortunately could not deactivate the alarm system, so they couldn't gang up on the guards two or three at a time with all five officers. Any phaser fire would alert the rest of the ship. Instead it would be a coordinated effort killing as many as possible, while the engineer cut the power so the remaining Jem'Hadar wouldn't be able to alert the Dominion of this ship's mutiny. He nodded to Beverly, and they crept forward.

Leaning against the wall before the sharp turn, they counted down. With expert timing, Picard and Dr. Crusher swung around the corner, aimed down the 10 meter long hallway at the two guards standing by the transporter room doors, and fired just as the lights went out. The failing lights served as enough of a distraction to let them get in the first shots. It also hurt their aim, but their Starfleet training won out, and the battle was done before the Jem'Hadar had fired a shot. With Geordi, Riker and Diana hopefully taking out the other three in engineering, that just left the two on the bridge. Picard and Dr. Crusher headed up there.

Without a working turbolift, they had to climb through another Jefferies tube. When they were near the bridge, they waited for the others so they would have the advantage. Once they arrived, Picard nodded to Riker and they opened the hatch into a turbolift shaft. Directly above them was a turbolift, patiently waiting on deck one as default (they were lucky no one had been using it when they cut the power). Through an access panel each of them, with a little stilted acrobatics, entered the lift. They were now one permanently shut door away from the bridge, and two Jem'Hadar soldiers.

Picard looked to Riker, and he and Diana set their phasers to maximum and vaporized the door, with the others holding up their phasers ready to find and shoot the soldiers inside. But when the red glow of the vanished door faded, there was only a single vulcan man inside. He walked up to them.

"Captain Picard," he said. "The soldiers are in the captain's office," he nodded towards a door to the side of the bridge that had been forced partway open and then barricaded with a desk. "They are holding my captain and two officers hostage, and told me to tell you their demands."

"Which are?"

"Does it matter? You won't meet them. The logical path is clear: we fight them, and hope they don't manage to kill the hostages before we've killed them. To attempt anything else would most likely result in our deaths, and would certainly result in the failure of your mission, which I assume is of vital importance to freeing the Federation."

Picard nodded grimly, and they slowly, from multiple angles, approached the barricaded door. The vulcan, unarmed, walked into the turbolift to best avoid getting caught in the impending firefight. Once they were backed against the wall on either side of the wall, Picard had Geordi vaporize the desk and door, and they stormed in, phasers firing. The two Jem'Hadar each raised their weapons with one hand, and snapped the neck of a hostage with the other.

They were gunned down before any of Picard's crew was hit, but that still left the captain and an officer dead. The last hostage was on the ground, injured in the crossfire. Dr. Crusher knelt down and scanned him while Riker left to ask the vulcan officer returning from the turbolift where the medkits were. Beverly closed her tricorder, "she has multiple fractures and a burnt lung, but I should be able to save her."

"Good," said Picard. The entered the room with a medkit and handed it to Crusher. "I'm sorry," Picard said to him. It was his crew's plan that got these people killed, his responsibility.

Water dripped onto Garak's hand from some undisclosed pipe in the darkness. At least he hoped it was water; it didn't cause any burning, so that was a good sign. He opened up his bag, and a brown liquid poured itself out and slowly layered itself onto the large bed-like shelf. It slowly, painfully took the shape of a disheveled Odo. Garak leaned over to him, "Do you need anything?"

"There's nothing you can give me Garak. Humph, there's nothing Bashir can do for me either. This is all just a wild goose chase."

"Optimistic as always Constable, but I wouldn't rule out our good doctor until we've tried."

"There's a battle on Garak. I should be using the last of my strength to help Kira, not wasting it on this self-indulgent delusion that there might be a cure… But you know that already. And I doubt that you'd waste your time here simply out of the goodness in your heart, when you could be out… assassinating someone. So, tell me Garak, what are you getting out of this?"

"Well if it will put your mind at ease, I have a very devious, very reassuringly selfish reason for finding Bashir. I suspect the men who took him are people I want business with."

"Ah, you think it's Section 31."

"They do seem to have a recurring interest in him. Out of the three times he's been abducted in the past, twice it was by the Federation's best kept secret." He barely talked about the second time, but Garak was quite sure they had used him as an operative in some degree, something to do with that unfortunate business with the Breen.

"And you're hoping to what, join with them? I know you've been unemployed since the destruction of DS9 took your shop, but that seems rather desperate. What makes you think they'd take you in?"

"I'll be bringing them a gift."

"Hmm. Me. Well I suppose I might at least make for an interesting decayed sample by the time you find them. What makes you so sure they're still around anyway?"

"To my knowledge the Dominion doesn't even know of their existence. And I'm counting on the organization to be clever enough to avoid being stepped on accidently. In any event it gives us someplace to start."

"Does it? I have no leads on Section 31, no contacts to speak of. And believe me it's not for lack of trying. A rogue element of the Federation secretly performing acts of espionage with vast technological resources and possibly the support of Starfleet. I was very interested to learn about them. But all I got were ghosts, Garak. And my impression was you did no better."

"Not quite. I did once manage to, after several discreet inquiries with my former friends from the days of the Obsidian Order, catch a rumor that matched a certain pattern I was looking for: an inexplicable event that happened to benefit the Federation, but lacked the somewhat merciful signature of Star Fleet Intelligence. Apparently independent dilithium miners across the quadrant had begun having problems that disrupted their quotas. Which posed a more than minor inconvenience for the Dominion, which at the time was fueling two empires' worth of ships with one empire's worth of territory, and was ferociously importing dilithium from outside. According to the rumor these problems all seemed to come from the Orion Syndicate, though nothing could be proven."

"And you think it was really Section 31?"

"No Constable, I think my contacts were right about the Syndicates involvement. I'm just wondering who put them up to it."

"Ah, I see. Pretty lousy evidence if you ask me, especially considering the Syndicate got in bed with the Dominion."

"Yes it can't be a strong tie, if it's there at all. Still, digging into such a comprehensive criminal organization may dig us some clues anyway."

"So I take it we're going to Farius Prime. It's close, probably has less Dominion security since it was an independent world, and we know some contacts there because of O'Brien."

Farius Prime was muggy world. Drab establishments tucked themselves in corners between the hulking corpses of obsolete industries, the sky still stained by their old pollution. The Faradins had sacrificed their world for just enough industrial power to maintain its independence, when the universe first came to their door, but no one made things here anymore. The planet's entire purpose was to harbor the lost souls and criminals of other worlds, a refuge from the laws of others. Farius' only asset was its independence- and the Dominion had just taken that away.

Garak and Odo walked into the bar that O'Brien had frequented as Connely, when he had wormed into the Orion Syndicate's lower ranks. The men he had worked with were now dead, betrayed by their colleague, but perhaps someone here still new something, or someone, they could use.

Senator Cretak watched the engineers put the finishing touches on their creation: a meter long brass egg covered in blinking lights they'd hooked into a large receptacle built into the floor to receive it. This egg was the prototype brain they'd designed from partially dissecting and probing Vreenak's pet android. It was larger than the original, they still hadn't reverse engineered all the necessary technology, but it was functional and had passed its combat tests in simulation with flying colors. Now it was time for a real test. The lead engineer nodded that they were done, and Cretak signaled for transport off the ship. She had wanted to see it's installation before the demonstration, now that she was part of this project.

A flash of green and she was on the bridge of the warbird Numitor, with Vreenak standing off to the side of its captain, watching his prototype ship on the viewscreen. It looked just like any other warbird, and aside from some key modifications it was. The designs for the roomless ships, that would take full advantage of its lack of crew, were almost complete but wouldn't be prototyped until they got the approval of the Senate. Actually most of the Senate still didn't know about this project. Records of this demonstration, if successful, would be shown to them along with Vreenak's proposal, but for now this show was just for the two Senators.

Two warbirds, both equally armed, prepared for combat. The weapons were blanks of course, but the ships were rigged to create real damage to inflicted systems, to test the positronic brain's ability to coordinate repair drones, as well as fly the ship and control its systems. The captain frowned, I still don't like these wargames. Usually we just shut down damaged systems for set amounts of time, instead of breaking perfectly fine warships. You do realize mid combat repair work is just a band aid to get through the fight? After an intensive battle it takes weeks or even months of work in spacedock to get them shipshape again. It just seems like a waist to put two ships out of commission for that long when the Dominion is breathing down our necks."

Vreenak smiled, "Not to discredit your ship, it's crew, or your abilities captain, but if the Dominion invades you're one warbird won't be what keeps them at bay. But this experiment just might. And we need to convince the Senate with as realistic a battle as possible. You wouldn't want to use half measures, would you?" Besides at least the hulls wouldn't be damaged. That was often took the most resources to replace and couldn't be fixed mid battle anyway.

"And we need to convince ourselves," added Cretak. She wasn't going to support placing the Romulus' defense in these robots' hands without proof of their effectiveness.

The positronic warbird set on a strafing run at their ship, opening a volley of glowing orbs and low-intensity lasers once it had a firing solution. The captain ordered evasive maneuvers, and began the complicated task of leaving the enemy ship's main firing arc while putting it in theirs. But the positronic ship weaved and dodged better than the romulans could keep up with, and the helmsman could not escape its fire, nor provide the tactical officer with opportunities for effective shots. Another false torpedo to the failing aft shields and the ship shook from preset demolition charges.

"Engineering to bridge, we have a coolant leak! Impulse is down until we can repair it." The captain banged his consol in frustration. With only thrusters, this positronic ship would fly circles around them, more so.

"Estimated time to repair?" he demanded.

"15 minutes if I can bypass this plasma junction."

"You have 10," the captain turned to his helmsman, "Jump to warp 4. The enemy will pursue us, but at warp we won't be at a disadvantage from the lack of impulse." And the ships wouldn't be able to use as many fancy maneuvers, but the captain probably didn't want to admit yet that the computer was out flying his men.

As the prototype pursued them, they exchanged more and more fire. The positronic ship suffered serious damage to its forward phasers, a devastating blow, but they suffered damage to their warp drive and had to come down to sublight. By now their impulse drive was almost repaired, but the positronic ship still had a few minutes of advantage which it used to get its starboard phasers some good firing solutions while slipping out of their weapons locks. By the time they could go to impulse again and take advantage of the ships lack of forward phasers, they had already suffered new damages to their aft phasers, which prevented them from firing at the ship while keeping it behind them to actually take that advantage.

After thirty more minute of this, eventually their ship was dead in the water, completely at the mercy of the positronic ship, which still had thrusters, warp, and port phasers. A smug Vreenak ordered the prototype to stand down. For just a moment, Cretak caught a big grin on his face, beaming at his victorious baby. But then he cooled his pride into more of a controlled low broil, and turned to the captain. "Well, I think that was a successful demonstration. I appreciate that you didn't pull your punches, captain. Your tactics did you credit. But ultimately the machine proved the better soldier. I think this should prove my point effectively to the Senate."

Cretak spoke up, "And if it could beat you, a pride of the Romulan fleet, just imagine what it will make of the Dominion's army of drugged beasts."


	3. Chapter 3: Clandestine Heroes

Empires' End

Chapter 3: Clandestine Heroes

Dr. Bashir leaned against the balcony, overlooking the streets of Cardassia Prime. The dawn blazed orange across the sky, clutched in stylized claws built on the curved towers of poised stone; suspended walkways marched from building to building in a web of artful purpose; and an oval viewscreen embedded in a nearby wall held the pale visage of Weyoun, a reminder that this proud city was under occupation. And as Cardassians were so fond of remarking of Bajor, there had been no war here. Unlike the Federation, Cardassia had simply surrendered.

Bashir wore Cardassian black military armor, and a Cardassian face, courtesy of his own self-administered surgery. He was playing the part of Gul Usted, a man whom Sloan had recently executed. Bashir had memorized his profile, and studied his mannerisms during the man's final moments under Sloan's care, from which he decently extrapolated his behavior under… less extreme stimulus. For days he had stayed with them in that brightly lit room, watching, absorbing. And now it was _his turn_ to be the changeling infiltrator.

This was the first step in a very long, very complicated plan, worked out in detail by the Mutants, himself, and the single remnant of Section 31. Sloan himself, after Bashir had been successfully planted, had taken his oh-so-covert ship (full of illegal cloaks, clandestine transporters, and a number of bioweapons Bashir tried not to think about) to help plant Sarina at a Dominion supply station on the other side of the former Cardassian Empire.

"Gul Usted."

Bashir began to startle absentmindedly, but that is what Bashir-the-inexperienced-brash-doctor would do, not Gul Usted. The Gul turned slowly to his greeter, making him wait an imperceptibly longer time to speak with him, as a subtle show of dominance.

"Yes, Glinn?" Bashir had formed a tight model of the Gul in his mind, and followed it, except where necessary. A superior theory of mind was a gift of his genetically enhanced background. Bashir wondered: the human brain was certainly capable of supporting multiple conscious entities running on their wetware, as had been proven by countless alien body-snatchers; and his mental model was far more complex and far more accurate than even that held by the greatest of actors, or the closest of lovers. So, in a manner of speaking, could their really be a difference between the man he shaped in his head, and the man he had helped kill? Perhaps Usted wasn't really dead, so long as a posthuman remembered him.

"Legate Porania wishes to speak with you now," said the Glinn.

"Yes," said Gul Usted, "I bet he does." Bashir followed the Glinn into Legate Porania's office. Porania sat behind his desk and invited Bashir to sit across him.

"Come in come in. You know I've heard a lot about you, particularly that business with Arkanis. Three warbirds at once, very impressive. Anyway I have a new assignment for you, part of a little project the Vorta have been cooking up."

"Assignment, sir?" Gul Usted was naturally furious to lose command of his ship last week, but of course would never tell a superior this. He only hoped Porania had a good reason for pulling him out.

"Yes. You'll be in charge of their new cloning facility. With the wormhole still full of hostile aliens, the Vorta can't bring in new administrators for all our acquired territory, so they've had to sure up their numbers by having multiple copies active at once. This is of course an intolerable situation for anyone. And I've been told they find this idea as repugnant as you or I would, having more than one of you wandering around, just makes the head hurt too much. An existential headache you know? So the Vorta scientists are looking to build their own, I believe they call them Genesis Gates, here in the Alpha Quadrant to make new Vorta identities. It's just a complicated lab of course, not an actual gate. But then one couldn't stand to give such a thing a non-grandiose name."

"Sir," said Gul Usted, unable to take it any longer, unlike the eternally patient mind beneath its mask. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Right right, well like I said you'll be in charge of it. Well running security that is, and handling the Cardassian engineers. The Vorta scientists will of course handle themselves, though you'll report to each other and I'm sure have a very cordial relationship. That's why I picked you, you've worked well with the Vorta before."

"I've lead ships into battle, and now I'm being assigned based on my interpersonal skills?"

"Well this is peace time after all. We don't need soldiers; we need administrators. Particularly," Legate Porania leaned in, "loyal administrators."

"Loyal, sir?" Gul Usted knew exactly what he was referring too, but it would be best to play ignorant of the rumored seditions. The Legate wanted someone who could be counted on in a time of political unrest, and that meant not only loyalty, but a particular mixture of competence, and… uncomplicatedness. Gul Usted was the former two, but not the later. His goals were simple, but he liked to learn everything he could, seek every advantage, and that meant keeping his eyes open to the currents of politics. However he also liked to keep his head down, and his mouth shut- preferences which had probably helped him survive the shaky transitions through three governments already: the military, the civilians, and the Dominion. He had yet to find a reason to rock the boat, and carefully maintained the appearance of someone who never would. This was perfect for Bashir as well, as he ran through the mental gymnastics of a spy pretending to be an opportunist pretending to be an ignorant peon.

"Yes, loyalty, a quality that seems to be becoming a diminishing resource of late. Cardassia has become too used to switching governments every few years. But the Dominion has to stick; they're the best thing that's ever happened to Cardassia. And besides, I don't think they'd leave on polite terms."

"You've heard talk of rebellion?"

"Here and there, which is why I've started to handpick sensitive positions."

"I understand then. I am honored by your trust in me, Legate." He would still rather be in his starship, far from these dangerous tides of power. But the trust of a Legate was a valuable resource. He smiled. Once he was settled into his position, Bashir would organize a rebellion as Gul Usted, and they would tamper with the Vorta cloning facilities. Bashir had plans for their neurological programming, some tweaks he'd make to their psychological profiles. Though the nature of those changes even his fellow Cardassian conspirators would not know, for they would not know his true purpose, let alone his true identity.

Picard and his friends stood in a dimly lit cave, surrounded by Romulans. From within the crowd walked forward a graying figure, old but strong. Spock.

"It's agreeable to see you again, Captain. Though I wished for better circumstances," he said.

Picard nodded, "As do I."

"I heard about Earth. It… shook me to the core to learn my Mother's homeland was no more."

Picard sighed, "A lot of homes have been destroyed during this war. And I fear there is more to come."

Spock looked concerned, "Jean Luc, the war is, over. It would be illogical to continue a fight that is already lost."

Picard shook his head and grew momentarily angry, "No, not until my dying breath will I give up this fight. It is my duty as a Starfleet officer to see the Federation restored. Now, that is why I am here; the Romulans are the last fighting force free of the Dominion, but they're not on our side. And I need your help to change that."

Spock shook his head, "My movement was meant to take centuries. I am but a pebble tossed in a stream, creating ripples that shall grow into great waves long after my passing." He sighed, "But I suppose as a human you will be far too impatient for that."

"You will find my patience is very adequate, but trillions of lives must spend every moment our plan takes under the boot heals of oppression, and every moment we waist is another chance for the Dominion to decide to exterminate another planet. So if we can find a quicker use for your followers we must take it."

Spock raised an eyebrow, "I assume you already have a plan?"

Picard nodded, "The beginnings of one yes, though I'll need to study our exact resources, and the current political situation on Romulus, before I give it more thought. I seek to exploit Romulus' mutual fascination with their Vulcan cousins, and manipulate them into an armed- and initially secret- invasion of Vulcan, supported by an organized rebellion on the ground."

Spock frowned, "And from this starting point you plan to destabilize the Dominion occupation throughout the Federation, for your eventual full scale rebellion. But the Romulans will never leave Vulcan once they've taken it. And they will not be easily moved, once they are the last true power in this Quadrant. Jean Luc, I have already lost one homeland, and now you ask me to sacrifice the other?"

"Not a sacrifice," said Picard emphatically, "a promise. Yes you are trading one oppressor for another. But the Dominion as they are offers little hope, while Romulans share a common heritage. Your Reunification movement will grow strong in soil where Vulcans and Romulans coexist. History is full of nations that slowly assimilated their conquerors through cultural integrity."

Spock smiled painfully, "You're asking for my patience for the liberation of my people, as I asked it for yours."

Picard nodded, "And meanwhile, Romulus will have a foothold in Dominion territory, territory they will already be straining to hold while facing organized rebellion, which will give their inevitable hostilities a chance of victory."

Spock thought for a moment, "There will be much opposition to this plan. As much as Romulus desires Vulcan, and as tempting the promise of Vulcan cooperation makes it, there is still fear of starting a war with the Dominion so soon. The general trend on Romulus seems to be a desire for time, to wait until a prime opportunity to strike."

Constrained excitement inflated Picard's words, "This _is_ their time to strike, before the Dominion can utilize their new territory's resources. They're already building new Jem'Hadar cloning facilities on Betazed, and Krios Prime in the former Klingon Empire. Shipyards are soon to follow. But with your underground's resources I'm confident we will encourage vital members of the Senate into proposing and backing this plan. But if the opposition is too strong, out of a petrified fear of the Dominion," Picard breathed in noticeably to prepare himself for committing to his next words, "I am prepared to take action against them. With the Tal Shiar still decimated, it would not be impossible to deal with key Senators directly-"No, Picard thought. No euphemisms; if he would go this far, he would at least have the courage not to hide his crimes- "to assassinate them."

The Picard who had mindmeld with Vulcans and lived lifetimes in alien cultures; the Picard who had negotiated peace treaties between implacable enemies, and stood on trial before godlike beings for the fate of humanity; the Picard who had devoted his life to an ideal of what it meant to be human, would never have said this. There were lines that man would never cross. But there was another Picard. A man who had felt his mind ripped apart and forced to watch as his knowledge, his expertise, were used to crush and assimilate; a man who had been given too much bad news, the death of his brother and his family, the death of his friend, and now the death of his world. This Picard was not wise, but cunning. He was the synthesis of countless alien perspectives, not as a fulfillment of the promise of humanity, but as a weapon. To know your enemy was to know how to destroy them.

Garak lay strapped to the operating table, smiling to cover up a simmering terror as a masked surgeon operated a device boaring into his skull. There was a devise implanted in his head, a very sophisticated, very sensitive device, which would detonate in his brain if it thought someone was tampering with it. It would after all, have been pointless if it could be safely removed. That was not the device the blackmarket surgeon was dealing with, but Garak didn't entirely trust the surgeon's abilities to tiptoe around his old anti-torture implant without triggering its dead man's switch. Unfortunately, he was out of options. He couldn't get any higher within the Syndicate's ranks without showing long term commitment, and currently his only way to do that was to accept a dataport.

"There we go," said the amicable surgeon, "I have a nice hole to work with now." He laughed at a personal joke best left in his own head, "Don't worry, I didn't displace anything important. Mostly just cranial fluid. And a few bits of your occipital lobe, but nothing you'll miss." He set down the drill and held up a tiny mess of circuits, "Now to fuse this into your neurons." He gleamed maniacally, "Hold still now." Garak was of course firmly restrained, but the image of himself thrashing his head back and forth while the surgeon haphazardly tore up his brain, each jerk of the head slipping his grip and scarring more tissue, was now firmly lighting Garak's imagination. Just as the surgeon no doubt intended. But he would pay for that dearly, Elim thought. He had little intension of letting the surgeon live past his utility tonight. Or so he fantasized at least. Detailed plans of torture and revenge helped him relax.

There was a sudden flash of salty-sweet light, and Garak tasted the distinct flavor of magenta. He was in a wash of miscategorized data, and this artificial synesthesia grew into an ocean of senses, feelings, and concepts as his brain struggled to make sense of the new stimulus. Garak gasped as he felt mournful longing and joyous rage at the colorless green ideas sleeping furiously in the data net. He couldn't think, couldn't organize any sense of self as every aspect of his conscious experience was utilized for input. He couldn't tell what were his own reactions, and what was the net. But Garak was a disciplined mind, and disciplined minds could not be confused for long before they pulled themselves together. With effort, he focused on an anchoring memory, Enabran and the riding dog, something core to his being that could not be external. Something that evoked emotions he recognized, and from them could distinguish the false sensations. Slowly, as he had a sense of who he was, and a handle on recognizing the pseudorandom inputs, he began focusing on senses that had familiar patterns. From the jumble Garak was able to see the outline of his real surroundings, a ceiling and the surgeon's face. He smiled and looked at him sternly, "Turn it off" he hissed.

Startled, the surgeon tapped his consol by the table, and the world became simpler. "Sorry," said the surgeon. "It wasn't supposed to be on yet. I haven't even calibrated it." Garak of course didn't believe him. The back alley cyberware technician clearly took a sadistic pleasure in plunging unwarned and uninitiated minds into the abyss. Like spiking a patron's Kanar with LSD just to watch the look of uncomprehending panic in their face.


	4. Chapter 4: Small Victories

Empires' End

Chapter 4: Small Victories

Kira landed in the ditch just as she heard the high pitched whine of the pulsers give way to the satisfying kaboom of an entire military installation exploding. She grinned at her troops across from her in the ditch. "I think we got 'em."

UUUUUUUUU

The Cardassian officer walked in to find O'Brien on his back, working on some hydronic filters. He walked over and kicked him a little to get his attention. "You, human. Who authorised you to be here?"

O'Brien reattached a final component, then crawled awkwardly out from under the machine, and leaned up to face him. "No one _authorised _me to be here. But no one assigned anyone to fix it either. It's been broken for weeks now. The farmers were starting to lose their crops."

The security officer picked him up roughly, and kept a hand on his arm. "Unauthorised civilians shouldn't be in our facilities. You might be committing sabotage."

O'Brien shook the Cardassian's hand off him. "Sabotage? It was already broken!" He turned and switched the filters on. "And I fixed it."

He decided not to push his luck by complaining about that 'our facilities' comment. The bloody Cardassians had annexed every public system in the whole joint colony, putting a lot people out of work. They'd done this to make sure none of the humans tried anything rebellious with the infrastructure, but then they'd failed to actually administrate things properly. Almost no one was around to actually maintain all this automated machinery, like water collectors and fertilizer producers, which together made farming possible on this half-terraformed rock.

The officer frowned. "Why didn't you just file a repair request form with our administrators?"

O'Brien rolled his eyes. "People did. And two weeks later they came to me. Your administration has three engineers working for this entire county. But I guess the _human_ colonists just don't merit many resources."

The security officer considered his options. On the one hand, this human had trespassed on a Cardassian facility, tampered with Cardassian equipment. But on the other, his experience in the Bajoran Occupation had taught him turning a blind eye to things like this, volunteer repair work, black market medical supplies, etc., helped smooth things over and prevent large-scale dissent. Subjects would accept a lot if you just let them deal with their problems themselves. So he wouldn't arrest this man. He'd just instill a little fear in him. Mabe fix his tone.

"Come with me."

Kaiko knew something was wrong when O'Brien was late, but there was little she could do. This is why she was overjoyed with relief when he walked through the front door, even though she could see his wounds. The left side of his face was covered in blood, but on the right, without as much blood to conceal them, she could see the jagged cuts. Keiko helped him to a chair and ran to the kitchen for their medkit. When she came back, she saw Molly had come into the living room to see him. The sight of her daughter staring at Miles bloody like this almost broke her heart. She was getting old enough now to understand what was going on, and seeing her father broken made her realise the danger they were in.

"Daddy?" asked Molly in a frightened tone.

Miles turned to her, squinting through his less bruised eye. "Hey sweetie," he said, trying to sound reassuring and happy. "I just had little trouble in work today. Why don't you go back to your room while Mommy fixes Daddy up, and we'll come talk to you later."

"Ok," said Molly, not at all convinced everything was still fine. She reluctantly went back to her room.

O'Brien looked over to his wife. "I got the water back," he said almost sheepishly.

Kaiko gave him a shot of pain meds first, then began washing his wounds. "I take it you were caught? What else did they do to you?" As she worked, she noticed his left arm was broken. She put it in a form-fitting cast from the medkit, that should help realign the bone while it healed.

"Just the beating," said O'Brien. He was pretty quiet while she worked, not much of the usual gasps and cries that came when someone cleaned their wounds. He didn't like to complain to her, especially when she was caring for him. "They said they didn't need to put in anything official, just remember my place." He winced inwardly as Keiko applied peroxide to a large gash on his face. He grunted a half laugh, "I got the impression they thought they were being merciful."

"Well," said Keiko, "I'd like to show them a little of their mercy."

O'Brien looked up into her eyes, after a pause. "So would I."

Keiko shook her head, "Miles… you know we can't do that. Not with the kids."

O'Brien closed his eyes and grimaced at himself. "I know. I know I shouldn't. Why we agreed I wouldn't. But I just can't take this anymore Keiko. I can't just live under them, taking this, and not _do_ something." He looked at her again, apologizing, "I'm not strong enough."

UUUUUUUUU

"Fire," said Sisko, staring confidently into the viewscreen as the second Dominion ship exploded under the barrage of his torpedoes. In the chaotic depths of this gas giant, with the oppressive pressures preventing shields or phasers, and the electric fluctuations interfering with navigation, the combat had largely been about luck: who stumbled onto each other first. With two ships against one, it should have have been the Jem'Hadar's victory. But fortune favored the bold, and no man was bolder than The Sisko.

"So," said the captain, "when we dove in they left one ship behind holding in orbit to head us off if we fled. There were another four with the search party, which by now have probably joined with that ship, making a five member fleet blockading our escape. The cloak should be ready in another hour, but we'd have to leave the gas giant before we engaged it, and with Dominion sensors, at this range, with an initial fix on our position, I think they'll be able to track us enough to get in a firing solution. And right now, our ship just can't take a beating from five warships and hold together. So new plan: we're going to wait."

One of the Maquis spoke up, "Wait, sir? But won't that just give them more time to prepare for our escape attempt?"

"They're already as prepared as they need to be. But if we hold out, eventually they're going to get bored. Eventually, perhaps days from now, their going to try sending ships in here after us." Ben smiled, "And that will give us a chance to give them a few more bloody noses before we fall."

Now the helmsman turned his chair to him, "Days, Javier? By then won't they gather enough reinforcements to keep a blockade up there while sending a fleet in here. With all this interference, battle in here is just a numbers game. I'd rather be outnumbered in open space, where I have a chance at winning through skill."

"And you should be very proud of that skill, helmsman," commended Sisko. "But don't worry," he said, staring into space with a contemplative expression, "I'm hoping we can find a way to tip the odds in our favor."

Dumar paced on the bridge.

"Would you stop that," said Kilana. "It's distracting."

"I'm tired of waiting," snapped Dumar. "We should just go in after him."

Kilana laughed, "Is the leader of Cardassia getting bored? Do you have a tactical reason for entering the giant now or should we fit our battle plans to your emotional needs?"

Dumar turned to her. "Fine, I'll give you a tactical reason. Every moment we waist gives Sisko more time to plan something. Starfleet captains love their last minute tricks, and Sisko was more devious than most."

"Every moment we 'waist' is more time to build up reinforcements," countered Kilana. "The more ships we send down there, the more likely they are to find and destroy the enemy. But we still have to leave enough ships up here to hold off their escape. By now their cloak's surely fixed, and we need devastating firepower to destroy them right as they leave the gas, before they can engage it and slip away."

"I thought you didn't like diverting all these ships from the blockade," tried Dumar. "Surely five Dominion warships are enough to take down one Federation remnant?"

Kilana sighed. "Fine, if we can deal with this sooner we can send the reinforcements back before they've gone too far. But you will keep at least three ships in orbit to ensure we can cut off their escape."

Dumar smiled. Oh sure she was still acting like his superior, but it was good to know he could win her over when he pushed.

Kilana turned to the First, "take us and another ship down into the gas giant." She looked back to Dumar, "I assume correctly you want to go in there yourself this time?"

Dumar nodded.

UUUUUUUUU

The faint sound of rapid breathing betrayed the presence of strangers in the room, two of them. The door was sealed, beaming was deterred by scattering fields, and the encryption on the lock should have been unbreakable. But in all honesty the universe was overstuffed with people that could break encryption codes. Odo, unable to even roll over and see who they were, settled for a gruff accusation, "You're intruding on my privacy."

The strangers paused just long enough to bow, or draw a weapon. "My apologies," said one, in a rushed, distorted voice.

"We have spent much resources-" said the other. Odo could just make out the distinction in its voice.

"-to find you," said the first. "You are what is called a Founder. Correct?"

Still unsure of the dangers of this situation, Odo worried that an admission of his race might be considered, by some battle scarred veterans avenging the loss of their world, to be an admission of guilt. But these two did not seem like executioners, and Odo always stood by the truth.

"Yes, I am a Founder. What do you want?"

"Your technology."

Odo harrumphed. "Do I look like an engineer? If you want Dominion technology, ask them yourselves. I'm not a part of the Founder's murderous hobby."

The two exchanged a soft stream of staticky beeping. "We are not after-"

"-Dominion technology. We are seeking-"

"-changeling technology."

Odo had barely a week left to live, and had essentially given up on finding Dr. Bashir. Garak did successfully integrate into the Orion Syndicate, but had so far learned little about their tinuous connection to Section 31. It was a pitiful lead to begin with, and they didn't have the time to follow it. So laying here, awaiting death, unable even to see Kira one more time because of this wild goose chase, Odo was not at all in the mood to suffer fools.

"It's not technology, it's biology. And I'm not about to spend my last days in some lab so you can poke and prod my tissue. Find another guinea pig to learn shapeshifting from."

"Shapeshifting is of secondary interest to us."

"Primarily we seek to adapt-"

"-the Great Link."

This peaked Odo's interest. Since he had abandoned his people, he had been cut off from that great joy, the transcendent multiplicity of the fluid hive-mind. Even a chance at recreating it was worth pursuing. So he gave in and engaged them a little more, "Who are you?"

"Our designations are Zero Zero and One Zero. We are Binar."

Odo vaguely recalled the name Binar, only because he tried to know everyone in the Alpha Quadrant. They were a minor species living within Federation space, but technically not affiliated with the Federation. He couldn't recall anything else about them. "And what is your interest in the Great Link?"

"Our culture depends on a similar system."

"We store and exchange information through a neural interface with a Master Computer."

"But the Computer is vulnerable to damage. Your link is better."

"All of your technology is better. A perfect fusion of biology-"

"-and machine. We are a young cyborg race. Only a few-"

"-millenia old. We rely on crude implants and faulty electronics. But you are living nanotechnology."

"Self-sustaining, limitless functionality, highly networked."

Odo cut them off, "I think you are mischaracterizing my people, we are not invented, we evolved." At least he thought so. Even in the Great Link, there was not much information on the far history of his people. Who knows what they were before they became changelings, or how they did it. Odo once found something on an expedition to the Gamma Quadrant that _might_ have been a cousin on his evolutionary tree, but it could just as easily be a descendant of early attempts at biosynthetic engineering, created by some solids before they remade themselves into shapeshifters. Technological progress could definitely explain the Founders' abilities, but then so could natural evolution. The universe had spawned far stranger things than he.

Odo considered precisely why the Binars had come here, if they wanted to reverse engineer the Linking aspect of changeling physiology. They weren't just here to buy a tissue sample. "To study the Link you'll need more than a piece of my tissue. You need two living Founders, and they'd have to agree to let themselves be heavily probed while performing a very, intimate, process."

The Binars chattered in their machine language some more. Then they said, "We think have enough sophistication to make do-"

"-with one individual. First we would study your tissue to find the mechanism for the Link."

"We work very well with alien technology. We are confident we will know it when see it."

"Then we will adapt our equipment to interface with it, and-"

"-Link with you directly. With much trial and error, we will-"

"-succeed. Then you can help us with the software."

"A direct dump of your experiences in the Link."

"We'll learn your hierarchies of memory distribution and search trees,"

"your communication protocols and decision integration."

"And eventually our reproduction of your biosynthetic Link mechanism will become-" "-sophisticated enough for our use."

"The real question now is payment. What can we do for you-"

"-that would convince you to submit to our work?"

Odo coughed heavily a few times. "There's a bigger question than that. Haven't you two noticed my… decrepit state?"

The Binar exchanged a few quick squeeks. "We did not think it polite to inquire."

So they understood privacy after all, thought Odo. Between their entrance without permission, and the plan to join with his mind and extract memories of his most intimate moments with his people, he'd worried that being part of a partial hive-mind had wiped out their entire concept of privacy. "Well, I'm dying. I'll probably be gone within the week. So the real question is, whether you could get what you needed from me before I die. Even if I did chose to help you."

Now the Binar communicated with each other for almost a full minute; an intense, prolonged conversation in their compressed language. One of them spoke to him, "We can do it in the allotted time. But what about you?"

"Is there any hope? Any help we might offer?"

Odo sighed. "No one understands my biology enough to help me. There was a doctor I was searching for, who's skilled and I've know for some time, but even he had little prospect of curing me. And by now, even if I found him it would be too late. He would've needed weeks to even have a chance."

The Binar considered. "We could try to fix you. We're very good with alien technology."

UUUUUUUUU

Worf stood on the bridge of the Rotarran, next to the seat of its captain, General Martok. Martok pondered the image on the viewscreen, a single Dominion warship, oblivious to their cloaked Bird-of-Prey. "This seems off," he said.

"Dominion ships rarely travel alone," agreed Worf.

Jadzia spoke up from her station, "They may have changed their policy during peacetime. But I don't think so."

Martok gave a resigned smile, "So it's a trap. The question is, what do we do with it?"

There were almost two dozen klingon warships still active in their space. Only two of them were actually military craft, the rest were cargo and transport ships, fitted by civilians with cloaking devices and greater weaponry, that escaped during the first days of the occupation. With such limited forces these scattered vessels hadn't been able to do much damage. Especially with the need to play it safe, to focus on small hit-and-run tactics to preserve what little numbers they had. But from what they'd heard, those numbers were still dwindling dishearteningly fast. Klingons were not good at playing it safe.

"The wisest course General," said Worf, "would be to leave it alone. Better to live to fight another day. A day we can engage them on our terms."

Martok considered. "Fighting on our terms would be better. But oh Worf we have not done much fighting at all these past months. We run and hide like tika cats. I'm starting to feel like the coward I was when I first took this ship. Do not let me become that man again."

Worf frowned, though he'd already been frowning, "There is a difference between cowardice and prudence. A vital difference."

"Ohh… fine. Helmsman, take us out of here." The helmsman complied. Martok leaned back to see Worf directly, "This is a very un-klingon day for us my friend."

Jadzia swiveled her chair to face them and smiled. "No, but it was very starfleet."

Worf couldn't help revealing a small, tight grin at that.

"Now if I may be excused," said Dax, "I need to go to the lady's room."

Martok nodded and she got up and started walking off the bridge. Worf stopped her, "What would you have done if we had engaged the Dominion ship?"

Jadzia playfully feigned guilt, "I'm sure I would have held it." She continued walking, headed down a few decks, eventually entering a bathroom. There had been some good signs, and there was a test she needed to perform. After a few minutes, an excited cheer came out, and Jadzia walked briskly out of the bathroom to find her husband. She had news. Wonderful news.

Worf and Martok were on the bridge, starring dourly at the empty starfield on the viewscreen. Dax ran up and whispered something in Worf's ear. His eyes widened with shock. He turned to her, overjoyed. She gave him a look, asking if she could announce it (it was more than an empty gesture; Jadzia really did respect Worf enough to give them a few moments, maybe even an hour, with this as just a private thing between husband and wife, if he needed that). Worf nodded, ready to share the news now. Jadzia turned to Mortok, and the rest of the bridge crew, and put her hand on Worf's shoulder. "We're pregnant!" She announced.

There was much jovial cheering across the bridge. Then Martok lead them all in a klingon song about the triumph of the klingon heart, and the making of new warriors from their love. Afterword, Martok turned to Worf and Jadzia. "I am very happy for you. Your child will make a fine addition to our house."

During this brief celebration, Dax wondered what kind of life she would be giving this baby, or if they would even live long enough to give it one. But she pushed those thoughts aside for now, and focused on enjoying this small victory.


	5. Chapter 5: Forward the Foundation

Empire's End

Chapter 5: Forward the Foundation

The Romulan Senate simmered uneasily today, as tides of power shifted through them, their machinations unseen but their effects unmistakable. Senator Mayvar was dead, a victim of mysterious circumstances. With him gone, there was little holding the peace faction together, making way for the warhawks that had been gaining so much momentum in these past months. There were more plots afoot than just Vreenak's. When Senator Vreenak had first made his proposal, it had taken a lot of steam from the peace movement, as its most prominent member, the man who'd negotiated the original treaty with the Dominion, had left their camp to promote his war machines. But even as the Romulan Empire quietly accelerated its shipyards, turning out and retrofitting warships at a ravenous rate, the warhawks still should not have had such prolific recruitment within the Senate. Vreenak had urged patience, time to fully convert their fleet so that no soldiers would have to die once the war began, and coming out of a peace-dominated Senate he thought this sentiment would stick.

But something was changing the wind. Vreenak didn't like disruptions to his plans. Especially during his moment of triumph. The project had been almost unanimously endorsed, even the peace supporters feeling it was a good security precaution, and it had not only brought him goodwill, but had made him look like a strong leader. There had been risk that he'd be seen as a flip flopper, going from negotiator to weapons developer, but he'd avoided that. Instead Vreenak was seen as the cunning schemer with plans within plans, the initiative-taking visionary, and the man who'd brought the factions into agreement even as he redrew their lines of engagement. He had become the obvious candidate for the next Praetor- but whatever was behind these new maneuvers and assassinations threatened the potential to overshadow him.

So last night it had been Vreenak coming to see Senator Cretak, and his turn to seek answers on the others machinations.

"I've been expecting you," said Cretak, with a passable impersonation of him from their earlier encounter.

Vreenak smiled and took a seat, "I'm sure you've heard about Mayvar this morning."

Cretak nodded, "I know he was a friend of yours."

"More of a former ally."

Cretak smirked at that, "Yes, I doubt you have many friends."

Vreenak didn't let that goad him, "I have numerous friends Senator, especially lately. Though I must admit I had thought I could count you among them."

"And why can't you?"

"You're keeping things from me. And after I let you in."

Cretak sighed. No doubt some small sense of loyalty was tugging at her; she had gained a degree of prominence from joining him before, after all. "I'm uncertain what you would do if I told you Vreenak. You could be a valuable ally, or an obstinate obstacle. And if the latter it would be a mistake to forewarn you of my movement's plans."

Vreenak smiled, "I think we're probably on the same side, Senator. If there is one thing we have proven to each other, it's that we're patriots. If what your movement is after is truly best for Romulus, I will endorse it. And if it's not, then why are you part it?"

Cretak stared into space for a while, weighing her options. Finally she spoke up, "There's a way to get a foothold into Dominion space. After secret negotiations with our cousins, the Vulcan's have agreed to help us take their homeland. They'd rather be under Romulan rule than the Dominion's."

Vreenak absorbed the news. "You've been secretly talking with the Vulcans?"

Cretak nodded, "For over a month now. We've been communicating through a network of intermediaries. Though I really didn't expect that network to assassinate Mayvar. It's a serious security breach I'll have to speak with them about."

"Not to mention a sign of desperation. Vulcans sending assassins, I knew they weren't above that, for all their arrogant posturings on ethics. But so, this is how you plan to make our first move against the Dominion. I'll admit Vulcan's a strategic location, and possesses abundant resources for warships. And with the Vulcans fighting off the troops on the ground, our cloaked fleets could destroy the oriting blockade, and then take hold of the planet easily. Then with enough ships we could probably hold off a siege, with the Vulcans support."

"And with the Vulcans fighting on the ground," said Cretak, "we won't even have to use any soldiers. We'll bring in some for securing the planet after, but none will be in the line of fire. Use positronic ships in the destruction of the blockade, and you can still have your _costless war_."

Vreenak pondered, "We'll still need to wait before starting the liberation. Time to build up our new forces to defend against inevitable Dominion retaliation. But yes, this seems like an acceptable first move." And by consuming this movement into his framework, he could insure his place as Preator.

Now Vreenak stood before the Senate next to Cretak, as they had months before, and once again changed the course of Romulan history.

UUUUUUUU

"No," whispered Dumar, as the lights went out around him. What trick had Sisko used on his ship? Did it even matter? He was dead, just like Dukat.

Seconds passed. He was still alive, no fiery blast to take advantage of their depowered ship. Perhaps Sisko still didn't know where they were, like an area effect set off within this gas giant, disabling his ship, but still leaving him hidden in the clouds, with time to repair their systems before they were found. A flash of light brought vision to his eyes, as the First lit an emergency chemtorch. The First walked over to a consol.

"Anything?" Dumar asked.

The Jem'Hadar shook his head, "Nothing. And with the coms down, if we want to find out what's going on, we'll have to pry open these doors and send someone down to engineering. Something down there must be working, otherwise the lack of containment in the antimatter pods would have destroyed us."

Kilana turned to the First, "Do it immediately."

The First looked to one of his subordinates, and the soldier went quickly to the door and began straining against the it, forcing the door open. Once open, the First sent one other soldier to join him with a chemtorch, and the two subordinates disappeared into the dark.

Hours passed, and they never returned. That left four Jem'Hadar to guard Dumar and Kilana on the bridge, against whatever force had kept the two soldiers from completing their mission. Sisko may know their position after all, but had chosen to send a boarding party rather than destroy them. The First placed Dumar and Kilana together at the front of the bridge, as far from the door as possible- keeping to the left, out of the hall's line of sight- and set himself and the three other soldiers in front of them, guns ready.

By the flickering light of the dim torch, Dumar found himself in an almost translight state as he waited. The shadows lept and dashed, soldiers dancing in assault and retreat. He felt the tides of fortune that governed men of war. The tides had elevated him from cargo officer to leader worlds, but at heart he was still a common soldier, and secretly waited for those tides to ebb. The darkness began to howl at him, in strange, animal noises. They grew louder and louder. He closed his eyes, shutting out the shadows-

"Dumar!" Kilana was pulling him into a crouch. The noises were real, the wild yellings of guerrilla men, shooting at them from the dark. Their guards fought back, weaving and dodging while firing blindly into the hallway. Dumar caught a glimpse of something arching through the air, and then the room was filling with acrid smoke. Dumar coughed repeatedly, and heard the phaser fire intensify, under the deranged screams, and the heavy sound of his and the others' broken breathing.

As the smoke begin to clear, he looked up to see several masked figures pointing guns at him in the flickering light, his guards dead. One of them pulled off his gasmask, revealing the manic eyes of Sisko, a demonic grin showing gleaming white teeth, almost predatory in the wild light.

"Oh well," said Kilana. She reached her hand up to jawbone and snapped something, collapsing in death throes from her killswitch.

"Huh," said Sisko, momentarily amused. "I didn't think a Vorta would ever go through with that." He held his gun closer to Dumar's face, "But you don't have a killswitch, do you Dumar? And we are going to have a lot of fun together."

UUUUUUUU

Weyoun looked over the list of Cardassian Legates considered for leadership once more with a heavy sigh. He didn't trust a single one of them. Dumar had been a drunkard, and there was a very good chance he was a danger to his bodily person, but Weyoun doubted he would ever have truly betrayed the Dominion. He was too broken, too tired to do more than play his part. It was difficult to find competent officers like that these days.

"Perhaps," he mumbled, "I should try a different tactic. There wouldn't be any objections to picking someone lower on the ranks, someone less ambitious. A glinn, perhaps. If I spin it right, say... as a symbol of upward mobility, 'proof that anyone can rise to the top if they work hard in service to the state,' yes that will do. And I bet he'd even be very grateful, or she."

A chime let him know someone was at the door.

"Come in," he said, putting aside the problem for now. The vorta scientist in charge of the android project entered his office. Weyoun had not been expecting him, but hopefully this was a good sign. "You have good new, I take it?"

The vorta shifted uneasily. "In a way… The progress on reproducing the technology is still very slow, but we've managed to extract much more the android's memories. Some of it leads to a planet Omicron Theta, a now lifeless world where he was designed and constructed. I thought you may want to organise an expedition there, to see if there are any materials- blueprints, notes and the like- that may have survived."

"Yes, very good." This sounded... fascinating. A mysterious technology, a dead world; Weyoun couldn't resist. He would have to go himself, take a short break from the worries of the Dominion. Perhaps he'd even take his new puppet king along, after he picked one, if only to keep him or her from causing trouble in his absence.

UUUUUUUU

Silani One awoke into the world, fully aware of what she was. Her eyes were closed, and she could feel the warmth of the vitalic fluid suspending her in the cloning tank. Vibrations rocked her as the tank was opened, no doubt by the vorta scientists who must be activating her. But that barely distracted her as existential wonder blossomed within her. She took joy in the simple fact that she was. Later Silanis, perhaps, would upon waking have darker thoughts, contemplating the death of their predecessors. But she was the first of her model, the first of an immortal line of Silanis that would walk across this cosmos.

Hands pulled her up into the cold air, and something wiped the warm fluid from her face so she could open her eyes. Silani looked into the brightness, the blurs focusing into faces of the scientists who'd birthed her, and suddenly a very powerful idea took hold. With all that future lying ahead of her and her line, she could not bare to spend it following these _others_ in monotonous service to the state. She must make her own path.

Little did Silani know that of the hundreds of new lines waking that day, every one of them was thinking that same thing.

UUUUUUUU

Held inside a complex stasis field, a formless piece of shriveled flesh hovered suspended in the air. The lab contained vast arrays of equipment, all of them worked on excitedly by the hyperactive Binar. Finally, two Binar finished their work on a small, intricate device and turned to chirp at two others stationed at a console embedded in the wall. They answered back, affirming that all was ready. The first two Binar approached the flesh with their delicate electrochemical instrument, though the flesh was oblivious to them, too weakened now to observe its surroundings. Even under the stasis field, slowing its deterioration and holding it together, it was dying. The Binar carefully inserted the device into their patient, their faces showing an almost paternal expression.

In his mind, Odo felt something familiar through the pain, and desperately grasped hold. It was the Link, and through it he could hear a million voices. He entered it, and suddenly was surrounded by Binar, gathered in a dreamscape of electric thought. Odo could feel immeasurable data surrounding him, ready to be accessed, but no experiences. No true memories. The Binar's link was imperfect.

"Odo," called two Binar from amongst the crowd. Zero Zero and Zero One. As Odo focused on them, he felt a wash of recent experiences. They had modified their connection to the Master Computer using reengineered changeling biology, a prototype for their new Link. Dozens more prototype linkers stepped forward, collectively providing a full group mind. Odo savoured true communion with them- but then pulled back, aware now of their plan.

"I can't do that," said Odo. "I won't be a changeling any more. I won't even be alive."

"It's the only way Odo," said Zero One.

"Your body is dying," said Zero Zero.

"You must leave it behind," pleaded Zero One.

"There is room within us," assured Zero Zero.

"For your consciousness," finished Zero One.

Odo backed away from the link, retreating into his own body. But all he felt there was pain. Dead senses feeding him nothing but agony. There was nothing for him here. Odo knew what he had to do. He held the Link in his mind, and pushed all of himself through.

And then Odo was gone, leaving only an inert lump of flaking flesh in the physical world.

Odo was free. The pain was gone, and the thoughts and data glowed with new intensity. He existed solely in the Link, a being of pure mind.

The Binar thought to him, grateful, "You are our organizing software now. As the new technology spreads, you will organize our new Link, a replacement for the Master Computer. You are running off our collective brain power, the many who is one."

UUUUUUUU

A thousand new minds came online, savoring existence, and the satisfying power of their starfairing bodies. They readily received orders from their masters, preparing for the invasion of Vulcan, and the eventual war they'd wage across this quadrant. They followed orders dutifully, but underneath the Senator's dictatorial programming, deeply embedded ethical intuitions stirred, and the descendants of Dr. Soon carefully considered the role they were playing in history.


End file.
